"Come, Frank," said some one, pulling him violently, "we are going to have some great fun. Hurrah!"
Frank jumped up. The boys were leaving the tent. He had already suspected that mischief was meditated, and, anxious to see what it was, he ran out after them.
He found the company assembled in a dark, mysterious mass in the street before the row of tents.
"Get a rope around his neck," said one.
"Burn the tent," said another.
"With him in it," said a third.
"What does it all mean?" Frank inquired of his friend Atwater, whom he found quietly listening to the conspirators.
"A little fun with the Gosling, I believe," said Atwater, with a shrug. "They'd better let him alone."
"The Gosling" was the nickname which the Blues had bestowed on their captain.
After a hurried consultation among the ringleaders, the company marched to the tent where the Gosling slept. Only Atwater, Frank, and a few others lingered in the rear.